Emrys' cat
by HedgeWrites
Summary: A series of one-shots that can be considered as connected, about Merlin and his feline companion. Watch as I insert my obnoxious but endearing cat into Camelot. A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, but lots of cat. Meant to be quite heart warming, really. T: Some language and darker themes.


**Emrys' Cat: The Worst November Night (for Aniek)**

 _Authors note: I wrote this fic for a friend back in Dec 2017 and decided to post it here._

 _When a young Merlin arrives in Camelot, he finds an unlikely companion in a proud tomcat, who loves nothing more than to bask in the autumn sun. However, as cat and companion grow old together, their bond becomes more than one of simple confidence..._

There are cats in Camelot, of course. Just as there are barking dogs to chase the scrawny things around, there are cats in the streets of Camelot.

Most are strays, of course. Just as the royal household has no use for cats about the castle, the people of the lower town have just enough for their families, let alone a cat.

So the cats of Camelot pick at the scraps...

All but one, thought the chocolate black tomcat. Broad shouldered and handsome he lifted his nose precociously in the air. He thought himself above such things as 'picking about the scraps'.

He had no fleas, he was proud to admit, no ticks or lice or worms. He set aside the time to thoroughly groom his pelt each day, so when he took his daily stroll though the streets each afternoon it shone and glistened in the sinking sun. Ripples of silky fur against rolling muscle.

He always looked best in the November sun. Never a day went by in the other months of the year when he didn't long for those crisp golden afternoons. He always turned the most heads then.

Emrys had been another head turner. The young boy had come to Camelot shortly after Morris had been appointed the prince's servant. None of Arthur's servants had ever kept about for long. The arrogant blonde was bearable at the best of times and though the tomcat had watched the snotty prince grow up, he had never liked him. Muscles and no more.

Until Emrys.

While Emrys had moulded Arthur into the great King he was today, the young man had also cared for his cat ever since they had first met in the November sun those many years ago. In return for this care, Emrys' cat had been the ears for his troubles. The one who would listen, listen and blink calmly and slowly all the while. Putting the Warlock at ease whenever he arrived flustered with another problem.

Emrys had given him the neckerchief a month after their meeting. Blue and simple, the tom had worn it with pride ever since. People had made the connection between the two, of course, but whatever Emrys said to his cat, stayed confidential. Ears do not gossip or spill. They are modest, conserved. A companion should not go behind a confidents back.

And so their companionship had bloomed. The November afternoons had been the greatest of his life those years. As the tom grew old and wizened, so Emrys and Arthur grew stronger. Emrys at Arthur's side, and the cat at the Warlock's in turn. Always ready to listen and soothe whatever troubles the Warlock felt he needed to release. The ones that the old physician would never quite understand.

The world was peaceful, and warm.

This November afternoon had put a spanner in the works.

Emrys had been away with Arthur again for a few days, which wasn't unusual- with Arthur attempting to unite the land recently the pair were always away. Emrys' cat didn't mind. Emrys would come back and find him if he needed to talk, in the mean time the cat could rest his old bones and keep his rich pelt glossy.

This time it was different. Though the tomcat was well used to being permitted to wander about the citadel as he pleased, he had found himself this past week or so being chased from the kitchens and shooed from the laundry... even the Queen had shut him from her room when she had returned to the castle three days ago.

There was a dark shadow over Camelot that seemed to encompass it all: the maddened old ward of Uther Pendragon, the distant minded queen and edgy people of the city...

This impeding doom had been growing, the tom had ignored it for weeks but it stemmed from his very roots. He knew it was connected to his master. He felt it. He knew something was wrong.

But Emrys could come and find him if he needed...

This feeling had left him limping his way to the Kings chambers. He didn't even stop to bask in the November afternoon sun. It seemed duller, lacking its glow.

Perhaps even the golden afternoon had shied away from today, the tom thought.

He sunk down beside the hearth. It was lit, for some reason. Perhaps to welcome the pair home, but the tom knew somehow that neither the Warlock or the King would be returning to these chambers with their light banter and death defying stories tonight.

Surely, the cat thought, this was his worst November night. Maybe this was the calling for him to curl up and sleep for the last time.

Pressing his tail around his nose Emrys' cat tried desperately to absorb some of the warmth from the fire, but to no avail. Though he didn't shiver, he was chilled to the bone- and no clasped window or open fire of the Kings chambers could keep the chill out.

He was aware of his hackles pricking up. How comfortable he should be; how uncomfortable he was.

Perhaps, he was already dead...

Then it happened. A searing ache. It burned throughout the cats whole body, stemming from his chest to the tip of his tail. An overwhelming, inescapable despair.

Something terrible had happened, the gripping cold began to trickle back in as the feeling decreased in intensity.

Something in-avertable had occurred.

The tom prised himself from the polished wooden floor, checking himself for outer damage. He concluded whatever had just happened had affected him within.

Until he felt a cold sensation on his neck fur. Glancing down, the cat observed in the firelight that his neckerchief was all of a sudden damp.

The tom sniffed the fabric tentatively, surely he wasn't dribbling in his old age?

Not put off by the smell he bent over to awkwardly run his tongue against the damp rim. He lurched back when salt hit his taste buds.

For some reason he knew exactly what the substance was. His neckerchief was drenched in tears.

They weren't his own- he certainly wasn't crying- but the neckerchief was getting colder and damper against his lovely fur. These were the tears of someone else.

These strange occurrences weren't his troubles, they were the feelings of another.

Emrys.

And just like that the roaring fire in the heart snuffed out.

The tomcat whipped his head back and forth in the darkness. His old eyes finally adjusting to the gloom. There was certainly no Emrys here. No one had wept on him and no one had snuffed out the fire.

Fear.

The tom was scared. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been scared- and safe inside the castle of all places to be so!

Where was Emrys then? If he hadn't come to confide in the cat then where was he in trouble?

He should just sit and wait like he always did, he thought to himself, find another fire to curl up beside.

And yet he stayed where he stood, knowing it was different this time. This time Emrys couldn't get to him, Emrys was alone.

Against all his inner voices the cat found himself making a vow.

He stalked towards the latched window, fear and a certain sense of guilt clawing at his sides. He would crack his old bones into a thousand pieces if he tried this, he thought to himself. Then, entirely ignoring this, he bunched his haunches behind him and sprang with the spritely-ness of a young cat towards the locked window.

A washer woman, taking in the day's work from her line paused for a moment when she heard a crash from above. Glancing around she saw a small shadow pass overhead and on her pile of washing appeared a single shard of stained glass.

Shaking her head at the strangeness of it all she hefted up her basket on her shoulder and sauntered back into the laundry smiling to herself.

Emrys cat had to pause on the rooftop both to check his limbs were in order and that what he had just done wasn't the stupidest thing in the world. This sort of thing was Emrys' job.

It was probably up there with the worst, he concluded, judging the pain in his left back leg to be a bad sprain. Yet, he picked himself up and kept going- for there was something pulling him onwards, something dulling the pain and putting a spring in his step. He also, somehow, knew where he was going. And for another thing he never broke his solemn vows.

He would help Emrys, because sometimes you had to face those worst November nights if you wanted to make the next November afternoon.

And some companions were worth jumping through windows, out into the freezing cold, at fifteen years of age.

With a whole collection of reasons to keep going, the tomcat's inner voices of laziness and longing for a fireside were entirely silenced and he found himself leaping gracefully up onto the citadel battlements.

The sun was setting in a brilliant red and gold display, streaks of sunshine collided with shadows of the night sinking in. The tom was aware he was running out of time.

Picking up the pace he trotted along the wall until an over hanging tree provided a bridge into the Darkling woods. Only, there was a good two metres of bridge missing, and a thin spindly branch of what was actually there. The old tomcat didn't even stop to think, lunging at the branch and disappearing into the night with a swift rustle. Surely impossible for a cat of his age and physical shape.

Trees whizzed past, darker and denser with each step. Leaping streams and boulders the cat noticed the moon creeping further and further overhead. All the while he didn't break stride. It was surely verging on impossible to keep it up by now, but the tom didn't even feel mildly out of breath. Magic? He'd had little contact with the force directly, but whenever Emrys came to find him, magic blossomed all around. During their meetings, he'd hear about all manner of magical incidences and incredible feats, but never before had he been involved in magic. And he was certain of it now- this was magic keeping him going, and therefore he had to keep going. He was being called for. He was needed and there was no waiting around on his backside by the fire this time.

It was incredible, the way air crackled around him. Fur standing on end and eyes shinning, the cat felt better than he ever had in his life. He could truly appreciate the joy in Emrys' features when he spoke of his magic now. It was wonderful.

Breaking out onto chilling moors the tomcat kept on still, even quickening the pace. His tail streamed out behind him and it was as if he had fallen into a beautiful slip-stream. As soon as they came the moors were gone, replaced this time by towering pines. The spindles and cones on the woodland floor crunched underfoot like snow. Though he didn't feel the cold in his paws, the tomcat saw the glistening frost forming on the ground. The pines mixed now with deciduous oaks and hazel trees, a stunning green which could be seen even at night.

He was nearly there.

Skirting suddenly, the tom watched through the trees the inky black glistening that revealed a vast lake twenty metres on his left. The swirling, flickering black made his chest burn once more. This was where the terrible thing had happened. This was where he would find Emrys.

Before he had time to glance about two things happened at once: his body spasmed and pain shot through every limb. Each wheezing breath he tried to take in delivered not the relief of oxygen, but fire through his veins. He collapsed.

A curdled yell sounded from nearby. It was Emrys' voice, no doubt. A soft whimpering reached the toms ears.

He had to get up.

With each of these thoughts looping through his head he took in deep breaths of the cold fire in the air. With each breath he exerted all the strength he had left to try and rise from the cold ground. His pads ached and couldn't support him, the tears on his neckerchief had frozen and he felt like his throat was going numb.

The magic, whatever it had been, had worn off.

His strained his ears again- they were the only body part that seemed to be working- to no avail. He couldn't hear Emrys'... wait.

The air crackled about his ears, they flushed hot. He could hear a slowing heartbeat, that wasn't his own.

 _Help me!_

He cried out to the Old Religion, for that was what it was. Just because he could hear Emrys was dying, didn't mean he could help him! He cried out the magic that had carried him here, but it didn't respond.

He was dying, he realised.

He knew what to do, remembering the stories Emrys had told him over the years.

He gripped the earth with his claws and began dragging himself along the ground, his belly scraped against stones, the claws he spent so long shinning tore and shredded in the hard ground and his wonderful, shimmering fur was no more.

Inch by inch turned into foot by foot and, blinded now with pain, the shredded, bleeding old cat connected with something. It groaned at the contact and rolled over. Emrys. He dragged forward even more, letting out a whimper at the final strain and collapsed with his nose in his master's side.

A shaky hand stroked him from head to tail-tip, just the way he liked it.

"Thank you, old friend." Emrys whispered hoarsely.

And Emrys' cat was at peace.

He breathed out, once more, and was still.

...

Merlin was alive. He'd been growing sluggish, but his whiskered friend had appeared out of nowhere, and the dagger that the bandit had thrown into his side was no more.

He still scarcely dared move. A small golden glow of warmth surrounded him and the lifeless black form on his lap.

He tried to collect his thoughts, staring blankly at the sight before him. This cat had been his friend for so many years, he had always been there to listen, and even though Merlin had no idea whether the cat bothered to hear his problems, they had developed a special connection.

He had sought out the cat though, that was how it had always been. Not the other way round. Though Merlin had sensed a deeper intelligence in the animal, he'd never expected this.

This cat, this friend had just saved him. A life for a life.

After Arthur had... Merlin hadn't been able to take it. He had screamed himself hoarse and his guilt had driven him here, where he had sunk into his darkest thoughts. He couldn't wait for Arthur alone like this, not even knowing how long it could be. He would have Gwen and Gaius maybe, but he couldn't face them. They wouldn't be enough to cover the guilt that was crushing him with the same relentless strength even now.

He'd not even sensed the pair of bandits. Caught off guard, his magic had reacted, but not fast enough. When the knife had hit, desperate and alone, he'd been all but ready to kiss goodbye his troubles. He'd thought to himself, maybe it was better that way.

He fingered the neckerchief around his own neck and looked down to the one the cat was wearing. It alone looked the same as always, contrasting from the tattered and limp form that was so different from the cat he'd known. But it was his cat alright, and this cat had died to find him.

There was no way the old fellow could have made it here without aid. He must have been brought here to help Merlin. The Old Religion perhaps? Was he supposed to still follow their crushing prophecy now that his furry friend was dead as well?

No way. He shook his head to himself. This is not happening.

A single tear left a trail through countless already crusted to his cheeks, it fell on his neckerchief and more and more began to fall after it.

Merlin was soon wracked with sobs; the unfairness of it all.

A startled meow broke the tears. Merlin looked down to see that the previous limp, very-much-dead cat on his lap was no more. Instead there awoke a broad-shouldered, youthful, chocolate brown tom. He was handsome from claw tip to his deep green eyes and his pelt rippled as he stretched out, defined muscles and quivering whiskers forcing a beam onto Merlin's face. Magic suffocated the air around him, he remembered the strange golden glow that had healed him and watched it now surrounding the young tomcat. He had no idea the Old Religion could even do that. He'd though it over, a life for a life and that's a done deal but...

He couldn't believe his eyes.

The next thing that happened threw him and his unstable emotions completely off course:

"You," the accented voice breathed, "will never guess what just happened."

The cat spoke.

 _The cat, spoke._

Merlin opened his mouth and shut it again, opened it once more, shut it a second time.

"I- You- I-" He stumbled.

"I'm back, old friend." the cat assured, giving Merlin a little pinch just to be sure, "and I'll stick by your side for as long as I am allowed to live."

Merlin gaped and gasped again.

"But... I don't know how long I'll have to wait for Arthur. I could be cursed to live forever." Merlin whispered in disbelief.

"Uhuh, and I am honoured to share that with you. It shouldn't be a burden, Emrys."

"I- I've grown to hate that name..."

"And yet, it is yours."

Merlin stared into those green eyes, shinning with happiness. He didn't know why, or how, but the Warlock started laughing. Impossible in his situation, but incredible to know he wasn't alone, this cat would wait with him. And who knew- maybe they'd enjoy it along the way?

"Thank you for saving my life." He said, embracing the black form.

"And thank you," The cat replied from within the muffled folds of Merlins shirt, "For making me realise the purpose of mine."

And the possible years ahead suddenly seemed bright, and Merlin trusted that he would see Arthur again, no matter how long he have to wait.

He would not have to wait alone.

Together, Emrys and his cat stood up, and sauntered off into the first rays of the November dawn, laughing and smiling, the inseparable pair.


End file.
